Severance
by SleepingSeeker
Summary: Written for Bluecladhero on Tumblr. One shot set in the 'A Son for a Daughter' story 'verse (which is in the 2k12 Nick) exploring the idea of Leonardo allowing Karai to 'help him escape' from his family after being brought home from the Foot Clan headquarters, more specifically, the Shredder's personal chambers.


**Severance**

When the pain hits him, he handles it; raised to fight, he can do nothing else; gritting his teeth, keeping his right arm rigid and clutching at the blankets; forcing himself not to grab where there will only be empty space; the absence of his limb like a hole punctured through his sense of balance; of honor. But he clings to the remnants of who he used to be, little that remains, and will not allow the pain to supersede his control over himself. And he would be fine, if it was only the relentless burning, tingling, shooting, electric-like misery that assaults him and fires through his upper arm, shoulder and side. But the pain doesn't come alone. It brings memories. Lurid. Raw and real. And the whimpering begins to bubble through his pressing lips and gritting teeth. The whimpering sound that when he is lucid and _almost_ strong, makes it so he can't look in the mirror. Can't look himself in the eye.

But that's where she comes in. Firm and unflinching. Defiant to the invisible power threatening to drag him under; that swirling vortex that he would have surely flung himself into to escape this never-ending torment. Karai remains unafraid. Of everything. Despite her own pain. Her own betrayal. She looks him in the eye. Daring to see him. All of him. Reading the lines of his pain and shame and humiliation that have been carved into his soul; seeing through to the very small, very frightened, cowering part of him; that quakes still as though he still remains within the Shredder's reach. Seeing all of what had been done and yet, she does not flinch from it. And there is no pity. Instead, miraculously, Karai lifts him over the filth and the shame. Reminds him that he is good. So good. That nothing has changed in her estimation of him. That he remains whole - body and soul - to her.

More than words, she shows him with actions. She is not afraid to touch him. To hold him. To kiss when he turns with sudden urgent fervor to her but then does not become angry with him when he suddenly stops, trembling, and pulls away; pulls into himself once again. Hides from the world. Even from her. She does not expect anything from him. Only to stay. And for now, he will.

She knows exactly what he needs. To give him space when he needs it. To know just when he is starting to fall apart. When he needs to be heard and when he just needs someone close enough to touch, but not. She is there when he screams from the pressure of the building fury, too large to hold inside or shrieking from his waking nightmares; too real to be able to find distraction. She is there when he weeps, quiet and gently or when he sobs; his body wracked with the force of it; hiding his face in the pillows, thinking he is disguising his pain. She remains through it all. For him. Never judging.

She is there when he needs rescuing. Time and again. Without fail.

That's why, when he was most weak, he agreed; shaken, broken and limping; to clamber through miles of tunnels, one arm slung around her slender shoulders, then out into the rail-yards and beyond.

_I'm going to help you escape._

Escape. To find refuge from the relentless anguish of the betrayal. From the shame-filled eyes of his brothers. From the pity so thick he could taste it in the air between them like soured milk, clinging and clotting; forming an opaque but far too real wall between them; forever. From facing the one whom he revered above all else, only to find that he had meant little to nothing to him. Sensei. Father.

_How could you forsake me and deliver me into the hands of evil men?_

The whimpering turns to gasps and groans. His fingers claw at the blankets beneath him. It's hard to breathe. He shudders. The room blurs. The light grows bright. Too bright.

He relives being pinned. The weight of the men on him. The shaking of his limbs as he did his best, in his battered state, to fight them off. Too many. Too strong. Their jeers. The cold tiles beneath his shell. The rough hands slapping him and arms wrapping around him; knees pressing into soft tissue until it tingled and he lost feeling in his both hands. When he had both. When he was still whole, inside and out, but not for long. The scent of sweat and eagerness seeping through the rough cotton of their dark uniforms. Their eyes like pins needling through his aching flesh. He didn't know what they were doing until it was too late. He never thought they'd do something so . . . dishonorable . . . so completely vile to him. His tail being yanked away from his body. And then . . .

_"Haaah! N-No! Ungh!"_

If he calls out for her, he can't remember. But she's there. He's on the floor, a trembling mess. But somehow, her arms are cradling him, steadying him. She is behind him. Her arms cross his chest, over his arms; one whole the other ending just below the elbow, but he doesn't fight against her hold, keeping him in place; keeping him in one piece. Just as he was coming apart, she caught him up and pieced him together once again. One palm is pressed against his cheek. His head is titled back and turned so that a part of his opposite cheek, moist from his tears and perspiration, is pressing firmly against hers; close enough so that he feels her lips move as she murmurs that he is safe. That she has him. He is free.

And for now he believes in the dream. His thundering heart begins to slow, matching incrementally, her own. Breathing in time with her breath. In and out. Slow. Steady. Melting into her arms. She is at once shelter and friend; protector and mother. But even more than that. So much more.

"It's okay, Leo," she whispers. "You're okay."

And he is. Now.

He stands at a cracked window, a cobweb hangs limp and neglected from one top corner, staring into a gray expanse of factories and smokestacks. His right hand gently cups the end of his left arm. There is no pain this afternoon. There is just . . . nothing. And the emptiness he feels in place of his left arm and hand bleeds into his heart. His face crushes into a frown as he braces his forehead against the cool pane of glass in front of him. He feels the familiar pang of homesickness. Misses his brothers with a crushing sudden need to turn and run as fast as he can, back where he belongs. Back to them. But everything in him knows he isn't ready. Not yet. He isn't sure when he'll go back. In the rare moments of feeling something like strength, he thinks he will . . . eventually. He can't hide from his father forever. And he knows his brothers miss him as much as he aches for them.

But then he thinks of his father's eyes as he turned, just before being forced into the waiting car. Watching, numbly. Without expression. He hears the voice, so cold and distant, not like Splinter's at all, but somehow, his voice more pure and real than any other time, telling the men to take him. No hesitation. No glimmer of remorse or second guessing.

Leo sucks in a breath, hard, because he finds his chest collapsing with the vision. His thoughts turn to the Shredder explaining that this would be his life now. That his father agreed and had signed an honor-bound contract.

A son for a daughter.

Leo is cold. He trembles at the window. They are three stories up. He wonders about the glass, about how much pressure would it take to pierce through, about the distance to the concrete below; wonders if it would hurt more than the ache within him. He reaches out and presses hard against the glass. The crack splinters a little more, fracturing but not shattering. Just a bit more.

And suddenly she is there, her arms snake around him. Cling to him without binding him. Without making him panic. His hand peels from the window and instead rests upon her arm. She is his comfort. She heals him a little more every time with just her touch.

"You okay?" she murmurs, somehow knowing him. That he needed her. She senses him. Almost too keenly, but he is grateful for that. For her.

He nods. _I am now_, he thinks, but says nothing. He doesn't need to. She knows.

He can't hide forever. He knows that in order to heal, he will need closure. He will need to face his father, to ask him the hard questions. He swallows and a tremor runs through him.

Karai nuzzles closer and he turns to kiss her, once, softly. The world melts away and with it his torments. He will go home. One day. But not yet. Not yet.


End file.
